


Night Train

by theriseofswolo



Category: Burn This - Wilson
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, F/M, Feminine Pronouns used for Reader, Fluff and Humor, Hand & Finger Kink, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Control, Pet Names, Possessive Pale, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Romance, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Virgin Reader, Virginity Kink, please do not romanticize the mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theriseofswolo/pseuds/theriseofswolo
Summary: You were a nobody, a forgettable face in the sea of 1980s Manhattan pining for a dark stranger on the late night F train, so never in your wildest dreams did you think he'd be interested until a fateful meeting sparks a connection unlike any either of you had felt before.
Relationships: Pale (Burn This)/Reader, Pale (Burn This)/You
Comments: 31
Kudos: 182





	Night Train

**Author's Note:**

> Or, as I affectionately call it: 9 1/2 Weeks Except It's A Comedy And Also Not Shit
> 
> Possibly the most self-indulgent fic ever written.
> 
> s/o to the shoe kittens and all the Pale whores on twt this is for you guys :,,)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly the most self-indulgent fic ever written.
> 
> s/o to the shoe kittens and all the Pale whores on twt this is for you guys :,,)

December 1988

He was always in the same car as you, the third from the back.

It wasn’t _entirely_ out of the ordinary. At this hour one could indulge in choosing where they’d sit without the pressure of the commute rush. There were other regulars, too, the old woman who you were pretty sure slept through her stop a good three or four times a night, the young mother who dragged her kids from the Y after she got off work, a group of freshly graduated yuppies whose souls had yet to rot from the cynicism inherent with being a cut-throat Wall Street broker.

But _him_. He was something entirely different. Something outside of the odd comfort of seeing the same strangers every day and greeting them with the same tight, awkward smiles. 

For one he never smiled. At least, not usually. Maybe once every two months if someone cracked a particularly good joke or if he read something he liked in whatever book he happened to be reading that day. He never really smiled at _people_ , was the idea.

You didn’t take it personally, most people in Manhattan were like that anyway. Still, some not-so-deep part of you yearned for, embarrassingly enough, an acknowledgment of your existence on his part, any indication that, perhaps, in some other universe you could maybe have a chance.

If he was ever aware of your staring he made no indication of it. 

Who could blame you, though? Even the old woman had made a noise of —slightly disconcerting— approval upon taking his upper arm firmly in hand as he assisted her in hobbling onto the platform at 23rd Street. 

The man was _huge_. Tall, wide, and imposing in a way that made your ears heat. Not really handsome in the model sense,, but still striking and overwhelmingly masculine in a way which still made people turn their heads. 

He was always dressed well and impeccably groomed, which would probably make you think he was one of those rich, trust-fund businessmen who overworked to compensate for a lack of social life if he didn’t regularly break the noses of WASP college kids who looked at him the wrong way. You were pretty sure those guys down in the financial district couldn’t throw a punch like that.

No, he was one of those guys some asshole would use as an example to prove that the American Dream was real. If this white man could rise from the rancid ashes of poverty, why can’t you, they might say.

Not that you were impoverished, exactly. Sure your perm was a bit shabby and most of your clothes were sewn by your mother, but Bergdorf Goodman paid you well enough to have your own shoebox apartment and cable, and that suited you just fine. 

This man didn’t seem like the kind of guy who wouldn’t be content with such an arrangement, though. He seemed too wired, too angry at the world to settle for ‘just fine’. One might go so far as to call him a nouveau-riche type, but you didn’t think it was quite that simple.

He wasn’t ostentatious (outside of, perhaps, the gold rolex on the same wrist with which he held the handle above), nor was he excessively boastful or anti-intellectual.

He always read when he wasn’t fighting, sometimes it was a self-help book, sometimes it was a novel, sometime something nonfiction. Last week he read _A Brief History of Time_ if you remembered (you had been quite impressed) _._

Today he was reading _The Memoirs of Hector Berlioz_ (you had attempted to read the title from afar by pretending to adjust the back of your pump, to moderate success). You wouldn’t have personally pegged him for the classical music type, but you supposed appearances shouldn’t dictate one’s tastes. Was he simply into autobiographies or was he interested in the man behind his works? You could see him laying on his couch, head tipped back, tie loosened as he listened to Lélio or Carneval Romain. Perhaps he went to Lincoln Center to listen in person instead or even attended the opera. You could see him having a box at the Met, brow furrowed and knuckles to his lips as he would watch the singers below, enraptured.

Jesus, you were lame. 

Projecting a made-up version of a stranger, a version of him which was probably an amalgamation of whatever sparse information you could infer from his physical persona and the personalities of at least five different romantic interests from the Johanna Lindey paperbacks you had stuffed in the back of your nightstand. You shook your head. You would not develop some weird, obsessed infatuation with a man you didn’t know, you would NOT.

But a crush was innocent enough, there was nothing wrong with finding a man attractive or using him as material for your masturbation sessions, right?

You sighed, gripping the pole next to you, trying not to, once again, imagine what those hands would look like on you, in you.

_Weirdo._

With a hiss the automatic doors opened behind you, letting in a gust of frigid air, blowing right through your ratty windbreaker before you felt a hand push at your back.

“Mind moving, babe?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You turned slightly to see a whole load of people start to shuffle in, laughing and talking and yelling. Normally your car had maybe seven people in it maximum when you rode it each night, but there was, of course, the occasional horde of hyped-up office workers coming back from the clubs in Midtown. Right, today was a Friday wasn’t it?

“C’mon, move it!” you were nudged further and further toward the opposite side, closer to the handsome stranger, who had, for once, raised his head to look at you, putting his book away to make more room, and with the last of them stuffed into the train, you were very nearly completely flush with his chest. 

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re fine, honey,” he murmured against your hair.

The few times you ever heard him speak he was always yelling, screaming in the face of whatever poor soul’s collar found itself in his fist. He was loud, booming even, enough to make you flinch with each expletive. Now, though, you found yourself reddening as he very nearly whispered into your ear, his tone low and leveled.

_What a nice voice_ , you thought to yourself.

You could smell his cologne, _Kouros_ if whatever you learned during your two-week stint in the perfume department was any indication. You wanted to fall forward, rest your cheek against his striped silk shirt as you soaked in the scent, took in the incredible warmth which emanated from his body, him rubbing your back in gentle circles with those enormous fingers.

“You alright?” 

You snap your head up, drawing your gaze from his paisley tie to the eyes above you.

“Huh?”

“Your face is all red, doll,” he chuckled, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his arm swung with the motion of the subway, almost framing your head, protecting you from everyone else around. A wave of embarrassment and delight ran through you from head to toe.

“Oh, um,” you swallow, his gaze not breaking with yours as if it were the easiest thing in the world, “I’m okay, all these people here I guess it’s a little warm.”

He ducked his head, his ear to your mouth so as to hear you better against the noise of moving wheels and the talking people.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Fuckin’ assholes. Comin’ in here when there’s probably plenty of empty cars further up,” he made a noise of annoyance, “bullying a little thing like you, shit pisses me off.”

_Little thing_.

“People like this, they stay at their little desk jobs all week and think that earns them some MDMA and a free pass to do whatever they want, city that never sleeps right?”

You nod.

“As if it’ll make up for their lack of personality or somethin’.”

“I was kind of thinking the same thing!” you laugh, his eyes widen excitedly and he breaks into a crooked grin.

“Yeah? Ain’t that special. We must be perfect strangers or somethin’ like that-” the car jerked and a woman behind you flattened you against the man’s chest with an ‘oof!’, “shit, you alright? hey, lady, watch where you’re fallin’ sometime, huh?”

“Not like I could help it, prick!” 

He looked like he wanted to fight, had that sort of pugnacious glint in his eyes you had seen so many times before, but he seemed, considering your physical presence between them, to deem it not worth it, instead opting to lightly place his free hand about your waist, making more space for you.

“How much you wanna bet half these people are from California or some shithole like that.”

You laugh again, “I’m not from here either, you know.”

“Well, neither am I but at least the two of us have the decency to do as the Romans do, you know?”

This felt good. Fun. Was this flirting? You weren’t quite sure. People were never a strong suit for you, but this man seemed to encourage conversation as easily as you breathed in the stale, underground air at that moment.

“I deal with people like this all the time at work, you know? Always complainin’, always mad we don’t let them treat servers like shit, shit, you’re right it is hot in here.”

“I’m guessing you work at a restaurant?”

“Smart girl. Sure do, A real fancy one too, three whole stars,” you give him a confused look, “not that out of five shit, I’m talkin' the Michelin system, what was it? Three stars, exceptional food, worth the trip, somethin’ like that.”

You made a noise of understanding.

“It’s a real honor, you know, means it’s the cream of the crop. One of those Frenchies tries to food and puts it up with the stuff over there, we’re all _real_ proud. You should come by, sometime.”

The train screeched to a stop and you twisted to get a look at the station markers. 57 Street.

“Oh,” your heart sank a little, “this is me.”

“Go ahead, doll,” he winked “we’ll see each other again.” 

You squeezed yourself between your fellow passengers, barely able to make it past. Once you get your bearings you turn just as the doors hissed closed, meeting the eyes of the man.

From there you could see his smirk, his face warped and blurred by the windows but still letting you feel his eyes, once again, meeting yours, staring with an unprecedented intensity as he gave a short wave of goodbye, your gazes locked until the train pulled him from sight.

Perfect stranger, indeed.

Though it was well past midnight, 6th Avenue was bustling. Perhaps with fewer children and more alcohol, but bustling, all the same, so you weren’t too frightened while making the short walk down West 57th and up 5th. 

There was a group of women, a little older than yourself, standing outside a club blasting Voulez-Vous, who nodded to you as you passed by as if to say ‘we see you, we’ll keep an eye out’ even as they puffed on their Eve slims.

The store was empty as you slipped in. At least, the bag department was, from what you could see. The gleaming quilted Chanel leather was, for now, to be enjoyed by the eyes of the security guards only, it seemed.

Until some rich lady found herself compelled to go to Bergdorf Goodman at two o’clock in the morning, that is.

The higher-ups wanted to try out having the store open 24/7 for the month of December, in anticipation of Christmas. 

“I guess there isn’t a difference between us and fucking SEARS now!” your supervisor had screamed.

A part of you understood, people liked to get their holiday gifts under the cover of the night, especially if they were supposed to be from Santa Claus, but you had been pulled from the toy department to go every which way since apparently salespeople generally didn’t like working the night shift. A fact which corporate didn’t really account for. 

You used to work for F.A.O. Schwartz but you supposed the lure of higher pay and health insurance eight blocks away was reason enough to make a slight career change. Sales was sales, right? 

Your expertise in hand-crafted stuffed animals and nesting dolls, unfortunately, did not serve you very well in the women’s shoe department.

It wasn’t too bad, though. Maybe two or three people came throughout the night, so you didn’t have to worry too much about pleasing finicky heiresses coming back to accuse you of giving them pink satin heels with the toes already scuffed to hell. You just sat at the sales desk, doodling absently on looseleaf over the appointment book to pass the time. 

“Hey!” you heard a voice from the other side of the floor, men’s shoes “Jesus, is anyone here?” 

Weird, Tim and Michael were usually _always_ on the floor, usually making out or creating dioramas out of drivers and slippers, but there all the same. 

_Maybe they’ve gone to smoke_ , you think, walking as quickly as appropriate.

“Sir? I can help you if you’d like-” he turns and very nearly gasp.

“Oh, _hey_ , honey! Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

It was the man from the train, his big wool coat draped over his arm. He put his hands up.

“I swear I’m not followin’ you I’m just here to pick up some shoes. Three pairs, in fact,” he threw up his first three fingers in emphasis.

_Don’t look at his fingers, don’t look at his fingers, don’t look._

“Oh,” you tensed a bit, flushing as you go around him to pull out their order book, “um, name, please?”

“Pale but they probably got James written there,” you look up with a questioning brow, “Pale’s a nickname, real name’s James, got it, sweetheart?”

You ran your finger down the page for the 3rd of December, landing on a two pairs of oxfords, one wingtip, and one pair of saddles, all Magnanni, delivered from Spain for a James written in messy block letters, followed by a barely legible surname that you could at least surmise was Italian. 

“Got it,” you took a scrap of paper to write down the catalogue numbers for yourself, “Erm, I’ve never been in the men’s backrooms so it might take a while, okay?”

“That’s okay, I know my way around, doll” he made for the open door behind you, unmarked but still implied to be ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark gray, pleated slacks.

“Wait, sir, you’re not allowed back there!”

“Hey, s’okay, not like anyone’s watching to get either of us in trouble.”

You grab at his sleeve, making him stop.

“You cannot go back there alone.”

“What, do ya think I’m gonna steal somethin’?” 

“No! It’s just…..it’s against the rules.”

A beat.

“Ohhh, I see. You’re one of those types,” he chuckles.

“Huh?”

“You know, those good little girls who always do what they’re told because it’s safe, right? Can’t stray from God’s light if you keep on the path and all that,” before you can interject he continues, “but hey, I’ll let you come with anyhow, I could use the company. Say, this is cute.”

Like a magnet you had followed closely behind him through the curtain to the stock room, barely registering his words before noticing him holding the fabric of your blouse’s bow collar.

“I got somethin’ like this for my niece a few weeks ago, what’s it called, a pussy bow, right?”

“Yeah, sometimes, I prefer lavallière, though-”

“What, don’t like pussy?”

You walked into that one.

He took the opportunity of your momentary shock to pull the end of the ribbon, the knot silently coming undone.

“My bad,” he had a sort of look on his face that told you he wasn’t really sorry, his gaze intense yet playful, “here lemme fix it,” he took each end in his hands and pulled it taught about your throat, recreating the bow with surprising precision, “I see where the name comes from, makes you look like one of those kittens from those cheap greeting cards with the big eyes,” you flush again as he finishes it off, tugging and adjusting so as to make sure everything was secure, “there.”

“Thank you.”

“Nah, don’t thank me. Can’t have you walkin’ around all undone like that, it ain’t proper” he teased, “now, about those shoes.”

Past the rows and rows of the shoes seen on the floor were the custom orders shipped from all around the world just for customers who couldn’t find anything they liked from the selection already available.

You told him the number to look for and the two of you split to look.

After five or so minutes you spotted it on one of the higher shelves and made for the rolling ladder, wasting no time in stepping up to grab for the boxes.

“Well ain’t that a view,” you twist to see Pale leaning back on the opposite shelf, arms crossed as he eyed the back of your cream skirt.

You should be offended, you knew. You should have the dignity to smack him and kick him out of the store. The throb at your core at the possibility of him being attracted to you seemed to disagree.

“I’m,” you swallow and continue, pathetically, “I’m not that kind of girl, sir.”

His eyes widened, “how’s that?”

“You’re looking at me like, like-”

“Like I’m gonna put my hands up your skirt? Don’t worry, honey, I won’t touch you,” he shook his head, “I’m not that kind of guy, but- ah, thanks,” you handed him the boxes from your place above before stepping down.

He dropped to sit back on his haunches, the fabric of his pants stretching and revealing the near alarming muscularity of his thighs as he made to take out the boxes’ contents.

You kneel down next to him, “is it them?”

He pulled out a pair of glossy black shoes, “looks like it, hey, look at this,” he put the vamp up to the fluorescents above, revealing speckle pattern.

“Is, is that-?”

“Stingray. Ain’t that somethin’? I almost didn’t believe the guy when he said they could order these but here we are,” he put them back before pulling out the other two, crocodile and sharkskin, both black.

“You sure like your exotic leathers, huh?” normally you might think such a thing tacky, excessive, even, but something about this man just _fit_ them. If there was any man suitable to wear shoes like that, it was men like James, Pale.

“Yeah, I suppose. Guess it’s kind of become a little hobby of mine. Some people collect stamps or coins or some crap, me, I get shoes made from animals on the other side of the globe,” he stood and gathered the shoeboxes under his arm, “say, you wouldn’t mind helping me pick out somethin’ to match these would you?”

More time with him alone, time with _James_ _Pale, Pale James_. 

“Oh, uh, sure. I’m not very familiar with the workings of the men’s department, though.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” he walked back in the direction of the store, “I just need another pair of eyes, that’s all. This Versace jacket or this Ralph Lauren, stuff like that, nothin’ too complicated.”

After checking him out and marking down the time you’ve started your ‘break’, the two of you take the elevator two floors down to the, once again, empty men’s department.

You followed him around, watching as he examined each article, testing the fine wools and silks between his finger and thumb.

You were certainly not thinking about him doing the same to you, where it seemed you needed it most, and you most definitely did not rub your thighs together for a modicum of relief as soon as he turned his back to you. 

This was surely torture.

With several pairs of trousers, jackets, shirts, ties, coats, and even pocket squares in arm, he had you sit in the spacious lounge just off of the dressing room, decorated, despite the department in which it was contained, with soft pinks, creams, and gold, the lights dimmed due to the increasingly late hour.

You found yourself sitting upon an absurdly plush, peach cabriole, sweaty palms smoothing your skirt as you waited for Pale to return.

It didn’t take long. Some ten minutes later he came out in a fine, dark, double-breasted Armani suit, pulling at the cuffs which were just a tad too short, and much too tight.

He put his arms up as if to say ‘behold’.

“Well, whatcha think?”

I like it, the color suits you,” you cross your legs again, hoping to God you were being subtle, “looks a little small, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll have to take it to the tailor. I just got one of those bodies where clothes never fit right, you know? Too big in all the wrong ways, for clothes at least,” he unbuttoned his jacket, setting his fists on his waist, “yeah, I like the fabric, though, feels nice, real nice. Hey, c’mere, come feel.” 

You stand, walking towards him hesitantly before pinching the material of his shirt between your shaking fingers.

“You’re right, it’s very soft.”

“Yeah,” he was looking at you again, in that way that almost made you think he wanted you, “Yeah, I think I’ll be getting this one. I’ll go try on some more, stay here.”

Thus it continued just the same. Pale would come out, looking so handsome your chest started to hurt and you would have to rub yourself over your nylons while he changed into the next suit. 

He was flirting, teasing you, he just had to be. Perhaps he was bored, or maybe he thought you’d be an easy lay, and you weren’t sure what you would do in the event of the latter. 

“Alright, I think this’ll be it, how’s this,” he appeared before you in a much more casual outfit, lighter gray herringbone slacks, and a simple, white, spread collar shirt. Something which might have served as simply an innocently relaxed look if the pearly silk wasn’t nearly completely unbuttoned.

_Am I being seduced?_

“Come here,” this time his tone wasn’t so playful now, it was deeper, darker, with an intent you were almost frightened to learn.

“Uh.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you but my lunch break’s almost over,” he took a step towards you, the pointed toes of his shoes rustling the carpet, “On the train, all those times you were lookin’ at me, was it cus you want me or were you just starin’”

You flame.

“I don’t wanna waste time, and I’ve been real patient, _real_ polite, but I’d rather not find out I’ve been doin’ this for nothin’.”

“I, uh-”

“Now I can tell you’re shy, but just tell it to me straight cus at this point, I can’t tell if you’re blushin’ cus you want my cock or you just get nervous around men, cus I’ve known girls like that and I’m not judgin’, I got no business criticizing people’s peculiarities but you’ve got me hard, honey, gettin’ me _real_ worked up with all your little looks and I gotta know if I’m gonna have to go jack off in the bathroom.” 

You throbbed, practically panting as you fought the urge to tighten your legs together, to do _something, anything_ to alleviate the overwhelming arousal you had never really felt before. Not to this extent.

“I-” you stand so as to meet him, “I-” you were too nervous to speak, nothing like this had ever happened to you before and you had absolutely no idea what to do or say.

So you nod.

“Yes this is just how you are with everyone or yes you want me to kiss you. 

You make a noise somewhere between a moan and a squeak, nodding again, but he seemed to get the message.

“Good, that’s real good, honey…” he leaned down, cradling your jaw licking his lips before placing a soft peck on your own. 

You’ve never been kissed before. It wasn’t exactly an active choice on your part but you had never minded the fact much either. Still, you tensed, nervous energy flowing through you like a live wire.

“I, um, I’ve never, uh, done that. Before.” 

“What, kissed?” he cocked his head as if trying to figure if you were messing with him, “...you serious?”

“Yeah, uh-”

“Shit, a girl like you and you’ve never been kissed? Nah, nah, I’m not gonna have that little thing be your first, that don’t count, c’mere,” He took your face in his hands, his palms rough but warm and gentle, and titled it in a way that had you face the ceiling, “open your mouth for me, doll, just a little, _there_ you go,” he rubbed his thumb over your parted lips, dipping it into your mouth a bit to touch your tongue, “I’m gonna kiss you now, kay?”

You nod and puts his lips to yours, mouthing against you with an unapologetic fervor, his tongue almost immediately finding itself in your mouth.

You had often heard tongue kisses were gross, weird, and unpleasant but this certainly wasn’t that. Perhaps it was your attraction to Pale, or the way in which he groaned into your mouth as if he would do anything so as to keep kissing you, like you were wanted, _needed_ by him so as to satiate whatever he pleased.

You would certainly let Pale kiss you anytime he wanted, you decided.

If you only existed to be kissed by this man, that would certainly be a happy existence indeed.

He licked into your mouth, cupping your jaw and the back of your head as he coaxed you even further into an unbelievable arousal.

You were half sure you could come from just this.

He slid his hands down over you, brazenly running along the curve of your breasts, your waist, before settling on your ass and pulling you against him.

“ _Fuck_ , ya feel that?” you bury your face in his chest next to your hand fisting his shirt to quietly moan, “Poor thing, don’t even know what you’re doing to me. It’s okay, it’s the first cock you’ve ever felt, huh?”

He was so hard, so _big_ against you.

He parted from you, taking you by the waist to guide you back to one of the larger couches as he continued to kiss you before pinning you down to the cushions below him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stayed like that. It was all so intense, so _much_ , it nearly felt like a dream as you hazily felt hands run up the length of your stockinged legs, rubbing the sides of your knees.

With a slick sound of his lips leaving yours he stared down at you, looking at your flushed cheeks, your lowered eyes, your gleaming lips kissed red.

There was a glimmer at the edge of your vision and you looked to see a slim, golden chain hanging between his parted collar. 

_Fuck that’s hot_.

His chest was heaving, though not quite as much as yours, if anyone were to walk in they might think you were hyperventilating, or so you imagined.

“Fuck, poor thing, I’ve got you all overwhelmed, huh? Shh, I know, I’ve got you, you want me to touch you, honey? Want me to make you feel better?”

You nod, frantically, “yes, yes, please, Pale-”

He took the edge of your skirt and quickly pulled it to your waist, slip and all.

“Fuck, look at that, should’ve told me, doll,” he kneeled back onto his leg, staring at what was surely a wet spot between your legs, soaked through your panties and tights. 

He hummed, “so good, such a sweet little thing for me,” you wriggled below him, unable to resist the urge to ease the ache, “fuck, you’re so wet I can see your little cunt,” he placed a thumb just above your clit, pulling back the hood, “So swollen, looks like just one little touch’ll make you come, I bet it would.”

“Please, please, I need it so bad.”

“Oh I bet you do, sweetheart, poor thing, poor little clit, almost wanna suck on it”

You knew he could see you clench at his words.

“Yeah, you want that, baby? Shit, _I_ want to,” he took his hand away, “don’t wanna go too fast though, no, I think your first kiss and your first time coming from a man’s hands is too much for one day.”

You pause in your writhing, shaking in his hands.

“Wh-what?”

He stoked your hips up to your waist and down again as if to soothe you, “like I said before I’m not that kinda man, doll. I’d like to take you out first, a real date, you know?”

“O-oh, but-but I-”

He gripped the waistband of your tights, pulling them taught so that the seam pressed right against your clit, drawing a whine from your mouth.

“I know, I know, baby, it’s hard but I’ll make it worth it, promise,” he hovered over you, stretching the fabric more, the pressure near painful as you panted, open-mouthed against him “I’m gonna give you my number, alright? When you’re in your bed I want you to call me and we’ll talk about it then, okay?”

All you could do was nod.

“I don’t want you come either. You can touch yourself all you want but next time you come it’ll be from me.”

You could nearly cry, but the idea was far too arousing to protest. You wanted to see Pale again, and if he wanted to play with you like this, well, that was quite alright by you. More than alright. 

“Shit you’re all wrecked. I gotta get to back work. Hey, come here,” he helped you sit up, kissing long and deep before trying to make you presentable again, patting down your hair, straightening your blouse and pulling down your skirt.

For a good while the two of you kissed, you kissed before he went to redress and again once he returned. 

“I don’t want you to think this is just some sex thing for me, I wanna see you again,” he said as you checked him out. His eyes were earnest, his tone a bit desperate as if he wanted to make sure _you_ didn’t think badly of him.

“O-okay,” you folded his purchases as best you could, “I haven’t been on a date either so, fair warning.”

He laughed.

You took the elevator with him, allowing him to kiss you one last time for the night, tasting you as if trying to make sure he wouldn’t forget before he stalked out, turning before the doors closed.

“See you soon, honey.”

By the time you got back to the shoe department Tim and Michael were sitting on the floor playing some sort of makeshift cornhole with rainboots and sandals.

“Hey, thanks for getting that order, you’re a real lifesaver!” Michael shouted.

“No problem!” the three of you shared a look that said ‘don’t ask where we were, we won’t ask where you were’.

When 7:30 rolled around your manager punched in and told you clock out, get some rest.

You spent the whole ride home reading the same ten numbers over and over, messily written on a bit of paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥
> 
> Bully me into updating on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/theriseofswolo) (or look at my art idk)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥
> 
> Bully me into updating on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/theriseofswolo) (or look at my art idk)


End file.
